


Murder Aboard the GERTI Express

by qikiqtarjuaq



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Humor, Murder Mystery Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qikiqtarjuaq/pseuds/qikiqtarjuaq
Summary: The crew and Herc take part in a murder mystery dinner hosted board GERTI, where they must work together to win the grand prize.





	Murder Aboard the GERTI Express

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brutti_ma_buoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutti_ma_buoni/gifts).



“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here today,” declared Carolyn with a benevolent expression. 

“Wait. You mean it’s not for a job?” The unusual sight of an actual smile on Carolyn’s face sent a cold shiver down Martin’s spine. This had the feel of something outside his comfort zone, which almost always meant an embarrassing defeat in the future. “But we’re _pilots_. Flying is all we do.”

“Speak for yourself, Martin,” said Douglas, unruffled as always. “Judging by that smile on your face, I’d say you’re up to something. You’ve found us something better than an ordinary job? Something requiring a bit of finesse, a bit of quick thinking, a bit of dishonesty?”

“Not only that, but something that requires a competent back-up too,” added Herc, shooting Douglas a knowing grin.

Arthur jumped up. “Ooh! I know! I know! Is it a surprise birthday party?”

“No, Arthur,” four voices answered simultaneously. 

Carolyn cleared her throat. “As I was saying: In fifteen minutes, we will meet our next client, Miss Georgie Turner, who has booked MJN Air for approximately three hours. Free of charge.”

Martin choked. Oh no. This was going to be a _scheme_. He was horrible at scheming! He sent a surreptitious glance at Douglas and Herc, and immediately regretted it. Of course neither of them looked the least bit perturbed. Worries about money and failure were for mortals like Martin. 

“In exchange for the use of our aircraft, we will be allowed to take part in their game with the chance of winning ten thousand quid,” continued Carolyn. “I hope I don’t have to stress how important it is for _someone_ in this crew to win.”

“B-b-but Carolyn!” spluttered Martin, his head spinning with risks and probabilities. “Our fuel costs alone— If we lose…”

Carolyn’s smile widened. “It’s a good thing we won’t be using any fuel then, isn’t it? No need to fret, Martin. GERTI won’t be taking to the air today. Plus, I have a foolproof plan for success.” 

“I’m intrigued,” said Douglas, leaning in. “Tell us more about this game of theirs and how hopelessly outmatched they are against the skills that we’ve honed over countless hours of in-flight boredom.”

Herc nodded. “More importantly, tell us how we plan to cheat to ensure our victory.”

“Cheating?” interrupted Arthur. “Mum, we can’t cheat at a _game_. It will destroy the very foundations our flights are built on!”

“Oh, Arthur.” Douglas patted Arthur on his shoulder. “Cheating is only wrong when you do it against people you know. This will change nothing about our own games.”

“Yeah, you’re just the very picture of honour and fair-play, aren’t you?” muttered Martin.

“Eyes on the prize, gentlemen!” said Carolyn, bringing their attention back to her. “The setting of today’s game will be GERTI, a humble chartered jet flying a group of contest winners to a luxurious private island resort.”

Arthur clapped his hands. “Oh boy oh boy! I can’t believe there’s an island resort close enough that we can just _drive_ GERTI there! Awww. But I didn’t bring my swimsuit!”

“Oh, Arthur.” Herc patted Arthur’s other shoulder. “We’re not _actually_ going to a private island resort. We’re only pretending. For the game.”

“That’s brilliant! I can pretend I brought my swimsuit.”

“So, this is just a big role-playing game?” asked Martin. He massaged his temples, feeling the onset of a headache. “We’ll make all the motions of flying GERTI without actually going anywhere? Do I still need to do all the pre-flight checks? I should probably still do them. It just doesn’t feel right otherwise.”

“Not quite,” replied Carolyn. “The plot twist is this: someone is getting murdered on this flight. And the people who discover the identity of the murderer split the prize! Everyone will participate in rooting out the culprit, including our pilots.”

“But it’s against regulation for even one pilot to just be wandering around the whole flight solving murder mysteries, let alone both of them!” Martin was aghast. Why even book a private jet for authenticity if you’re not going to follow all the rules and regulations for a safe flight?

“Yeah, not to mention murder is illegal!” added Arthur.

“Arthur.” Both Douglas and Herc spoke at the same time. A brief contest of wills sparked between the two before Douglas threw his hands up and gestured for Herc to continue.

“Arthur,” said Herc. “No one is getting killed on this flight. Someone will just be taking a nap, pretending to be dead.”

“Can that someone be me?” asked Arthur. “I’m really good at playing dead. I had a contest against a golden retriever once and won!”

“Unfortunately, Arthur, the victim has already been chosen,” said Carolyn. “But the murderer will be determined randomly by drawing guilty or innocent cards prior to the game.”

“Oh. I don’t think I’d make a very good murderer.” Arthur visibly deflated. “I’ve never done it before. Unless you count that awful Mr. Leeman who died after I sprayed him with a fire extinguisher. But it wasn’t me that killed him. It was the heart attack. Caused by the fire extinguisher. Wielded by me. Mum said no jury would convict me though! Which means I’m innocent.”

“Moving on!” said Carolyn. “Including Georgie Turner, there will be a total of five passengers. Miss Turner will be playing the victim, which reduces the potential pool of murderers outside of our little group to four. Because we outnumber them, we are guaranteed to win! If the murderer is one of us, we will signal that fact using the keyword ‘Talisker.’ If the murderer is one of the other four, we each pick one person to accuse! The most difficult part will be misleading the other passengers into choosing the wrong person so we can get the prize all to ourselves. Any questions?”

Martin raised his hand. “Are you sure about using ‘Talisker’ as our secret signal? What if the word comes up naturally in our conversations?”

“And when would that happen, Martin?” asked Douglas. “When we’re going over our extensive selection of expensive whiskey available to our customers?”

“More like when you brag about stealing the Talisker yet again!” Martin shot back.

Carolyn held up a hand and stopped their argument. “Talisker will be fine. We won’t be serving alcohol during this event. Any other questions?”

“Yes. How will we be splitting the prize money when we win?” asked Herc. “You can, of course, pay it out to your employees through their salaries—”

Martin coughed.

Herc continued. “—but as a helpful third party, I’m interested in what my cut would be.”

“Well, as the owner of the aircraft and the mastermind behind this plan, I am of course entitled to the largest cut,” said Carolyn. “However, I am not unreasonable. You each get 1,500 quid if we succeed.”

Martin’s eyes lit up. A sum like that was like having a second Birling day, except he didn’t have to put up with the insufferable man. Immediately suspicious that he was being duped, he looked around Carolyn’s office to gauge everyone else’s reactions, only relaxing when he saw everyone else smiling as well, even Douglas.

A knock at the door interrupted their celebration.

“Miss Turner, come on in and meet the crew!” Carolyn called out.

A tall, thin brunette wearing black-rimmed glasses stepped into the office and smiled. “I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Carolyn, but I’m so very happy to meet the rest of you as well. What a lovely coincidence that a small charter company would have so many mystery aficionados! Everyone at the club is simply thrilled to have doubled our numbers this year. Now, don’t be strangers. You all can call me Georgie.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Georgie.” Turning on the charm, Douglas gave her a gallant bow, stopping just short of kissing her hand. “My name is Douglas Richardson. Ever since I was a little boy, I dreamed of participating in a murder mystery investigation of my own! I can’t express how happy I am that you’re here to make this dream come true.”

Georgie covered her mouth with one hand and giggled. “Why, Captain Richardson. What a charmer you are! I certainly hope our little murder mystery will not disappoint.”

Every. Single. Time! Martin gritted his teeth. “Um. Excuse me, Miss Turner… Erm… Georgie. Douglas is the First Officer, not the Captain.”

“Please excuse me, First Officer Richardson.” Georgie turned to Herc and extended her hand. “You must be the Captain, then!”

Herc shook her hand. “Well, I certainly am _a_ Captain. From a different airline, though. When Carolyn told me about this event, the mystery lover in me simply couldn’t resist joining in! I’m Hercules Shipwright, but you can call me Herc.”

Martin straightened his back and adjusted his hat, trying to make himself look conspicuous. Georgie ignored him.

“Hercules? Named after the famous detective, perhaps?” asked Georgie.

“How did you guess? Yes! My parents owned every single Poirot book published.”

“An excellent choice of names,” said Georgie. “I’m personally rather more partial to Miss Marple—”

“A-ha! Miss Marple! I’m Miss Marple!” As soon as he finished speaking, Martin realized he sounded like a madman. “That is to say. I’m the Captain. Martin Crieff. Captain Martin Crieff. I once played Miss Marple during one of our flights.”

“Captain Crieff?” Georgie finally turned her attention to him, her brows furrowing. Then a dazzling smile blossomed on her face. “Captain Crieff! Of course. Of course!”

She rushed to Martin, fiddling here and there with his uniform. “Look at your hat and your stripes! Oh! How dreadfully clever! You all put _two_ red herrings in front of me, letting my preconceptions mislead me into identifying the wrong captain twice! No one would look at a fellow like this and imagine him to be the Captain. But that’s why we have to pay attention and observe all the clues!” 

Martin stared, temporarily befuddled. It sounded like she was insulting him but it also sounded like she was complimenting him on hiding a clever clue on himself. Was the compliment itself an insult?

Arthur waved his hand in front of Georgie. “Do me next! What do you think I do? Am I a Captain? A First Officer? CEO of the airline?”

“Aren’t you the steward? That looks like a steward’s uniform to me.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Arthur. “You’re basically Sherlock Holmes! Brilliant!”

“Don’t mind him, Georgie. That’s my son, Arthur. He gets a bit over-excited when he meets new people,” said Carolyn, gesturing for Arthur to quiet down. “So, now that we’ve all gotten acquainted with each other, would you like to do the honours and explain the game to us?”

Georgie nodded. “Every year, the Fitton Masters of Murder gather in a place to play out a murder designed by one of its members. Everyone gets a random character card, on which you learn your backstory, possible motivations for murder, and connections to the rest of the group. Then before the event starts, everyone will draw a guilty or innocent card. The prize goes to either the culprit, if the culprit has not been caught, or it goes to whoever captures the culprit.” She grins. “This year’s prize is special because it marks the grand opening of our very own bookstore!”

“Ah, so that’s why you went and actually chartered a plane,” said Douglas.

“Exactly! I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when dear Ms. Knapp-Shappey offered to host this event for free under such generous terms. A real plane for our enactment of _Death in the Skies_ is quite the coup.” At this, Georgie showed everyone a set of laminated cards. “All these cards are randomly drawn and will hold your character’s information on them. You’ll notice that none of them have names; in general we’ve found that it’s easier for people to just use their own names in these things.”

Georgie shuffled the cards and handed them out one by one. “The basic premise is that an eccentric billionaire named Victoria Timmons, played by yours truly, is flying a group of contest winners on a trip to a luxury resort on her private island. However, it appears that the contest has been rigged, and the winners actually have a shocking connection to each other. This all culminates in Victoria’s death as the plane is 35,000 feet in the air, and the group must find the murderer before they’re next!”

Martin read the card that was handed to him and protested right away. “Um. I know this is all random chance, but the character card you gave me is a neurotic, insecure man who’s afraid of heights. I’m the Captain of an aircraft. I can’t be afraid of heights. And I definitely can’t be neurotic or insecure!”

“Well now, let’s not dismiss this right away,” said Herc, putting away his own card with a satisfied smile. “From a literary perspective, a pilot who has to battle daily with his fear of heights is a rather compelling character. It makes my ruthless, successful character who neglects his family for his work look utterly ordinary in comparison.”

“Indeed,” said Douglas. “Acrophobia would be much easier to act out, not to mention the possibility of a character arc where you overcome your fears! My character flaw of being too gorgeous is far more difficult to incorporate into my acting while keeping the character’s innate modesty and inner goodness.”

“Your card does not say that!” Martin snatched the card out of Douglas’ hands. Sometimes Martin didn’t know why he even bothered. He turned to Georgie with a sour expression on his face. “’This character struggles finding love because their beauty attracts the wrong sort of person?’ What sort of flaw is this?”

Douglas plucked his card back from Martin. He smoothed his hair out. “A tragic flaw I will do my best to portray.”

Georgie laughed. “Oh, aren’t these character cards the best? So much potential for drama and comedy! While you work out your characters, I’ll go and greet the rest of the club. I’ll see you all in an hour?”

“Thank you, Georgie,” said Carolyn. “I know I’m going to enjoy playing the quiet wallflower whose passion is crosswords.”

It wasn’t until the room fell silent with everyone reading their own character cards that Martin noticed something was amiss. Arthur hadn’t talked for a solid five minutes! It had to be something even worse than Martin’s card to dampen Arthur’s good nature. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“Why do you ask, Skip? I have nothing to hide. I’m just dead and broken inside.” 

Carolyn walked over to Arthur and lightly smacked the back of his head. “Oh, you idiot child, let me see that card you got.” She raised an eyebrow. “A pessimistic, melancholy poet?”

“So how did I do, mum? Was it good? It took me five minutes to think of that rhyme!” Arthur beamed. “Er. And everything dies in the sands of time?”

“You did good, Arthur. But I don’t think you have to rhyme everything you say just because you’re a poet,” said Martin.

“But then how would anyone know I’m a poet?” asked Arthur. 

“We could get you a beret,” suggested Douglas.

“Brilliant! Then I can have a fancy hat just like Martin!”

“All right!” Carolyn called for order. “If everyone is done reading their character cards, let’s huddle and exchange information. I want to know every little dirty secret your characters have hidden up their sleeves.”

They spread their cards out on the table and read them together. 

“Whoever wrote the murder mystery this year must have been a big fan of soap operas,” remarked Herc.

“Or harlequin romances,” said Martin.

“How can we all be this dreadful Victoria’s former lovers?” asked Carolyn, incredulous. “Is this a murder mystery or an episode of those inexplicably popular dating shows?”

“Why not both?” asked Arthur.

“Well, one thing is for sure. Whoever wrote this does not have nearly enough experience with divorces and break-ups.” Douglas shook his head. “I can’t imagine what possesses someone to invite all their exes to a single flight together.”

***

As planned, Arthur stood by the door as the passengers filed in one by one. Near the galley in the back, Carolyn sat in a free seat and pretended to work on a crossword puzzle. Douglas and Martin sat in the flight deck, listening in on Arthur’s greetings. First inside was Georgie Turner, who gave them all a haughty nod. She handed Arthur her ticket.

“Welcome to MJN Air, Georgie! Oh sorry, I meant Victoria!” said Arthur brightly. “Thank you for offering me a break from the loneliness consuming me.”

Georgie hid a smile and settled herself down in her seat. Next up was a cheerful man with a beer belly and an impressive mustache. 

“Welcome to MJN Air, Jack! I am smiling so nobody knows how sad I really am.”

“Jolly good, that’s the spirit!” Jack clapped Arthur on the back and moved past him. A tiny woman with her hair in a bun followed, her nose stuck in a book about advanced mathematics. She absent-mindedly waved her ticket around until Arthur grabbed it from her hand.

“Welcome to MJN Air, Ella! I wish I could escape into a book away from this cruel reality.”

“Fantasies are wasteful and illogical. It is far better to study and alter our own realities,” replied Ella. Behind her, a young man wearing all black entered.

“Welcome to MJN Air, Philip! There’s nothing more depressing than trying your best and still failing.”

“Don’t let life get you down. Remember: always expect the worst. Then you won’t ever be disappointed!” Philip grinned and moved on, making way for the final passenger - a woman with a blonde ponytail wearing a tracksuit. She jogged energetically in place as she waited for Arthur to examine her ticket.

“Welcome to MJN Air, Sophie! I can no longer find any excitement in the future.”

“I’ve often found that a tough exercise session that focuses all your aches on the physical can take your mind off the emotional hurts,” said Sophie with a kind smile.

Once all passengers were in their seats, Martin closed the flight deck door and turned on the passenger intercom. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! My name is Captain Martin Crieff, and I will be your pilot today.”

“Don’t forget your fear of heights,” whispered Douglas, nudging him.

“In approximately five minutes, we will be taking off into the friendly skies for our trip to the lovely island of Brisheim. I recommend closing the curtains so you don’t see the vast distance to the ground and come face-to-face with the prospect of falling to your doom.” Martin shut off the passenger intercom.

Once the intercom light blinked out, Douglas clapped. “Not bad. Not bad. Are you ready to determine our guilt or innocence?”

“But Douglas, we still need to fly the plane into the air before we can leave the flight deck, and that’s at least another half hour. I compromised on skipping the pre-flight checklist because it’s only for us, but I won’t compromise on authenticity that affects our passengers.”

Douglas produced a lemon from his pocket. “Do what you will, Martin. I’m heading outside and putting the lemon in play.”

Martin scrambled out after him, but the by the time he steadied himself on the cabin wall, Douglas’ hands were empty and the lemon was nowhere to be found, not even on his hat. With Martin’s luck, it would pop up at the most inopportune time and cause a disaster that would somehow be blamed squarely on him. Seeing everyone gather around the ornate gold bowl holding their different-coloured envelopes, Martin joined the crowd. He took out a red envelope, backed away, and opened it. Red for the colour of blood was surely the best bet!

INNOCENT.

Careful not to let his disappointment show, Martin folded his card back into the envelope and returned it to Georgie. Too late, he realized that red could also stand for red herring. 

“All right, everyone! If you’ll return to your seats, Arthur will take your orders for dinner,” announced Carolyn. “For the main course, you’ll have a choice between chicken or the beef. For your drinks, we have bottled water, coffee or tea.”

“Aw come on, nothing stronger? A spot of wine?” asked Jack.

Carolyn gave the four of them all meaningful looks. They all shook their heads. Martin shifted his gaze over to the newcomers, trying to gauge their reactions for nervousness or excitement that could give away their identity as the murderer.

“I’m afraid not, Jack. There will be no alcohol served on this flight,” said Carolyn. The passengers grumbled affably, but were pleased enough to give their orders to Arthur. 

Retreating to the flight deck, Martin and Douglas sat down and waited.

“All right, Douglas, where did you hide the lemon this time? I checked everyone’s hats!”

Douglas feigned surprise. “Is MJN’s very own Miss Marple having trouble finding clues to the whereabouts of a simple lemon?”

Martin huffed, but his words were interrupted by the intercom.

“Martin? Douglas?” It was Carolyn’s voice. “Are you two ready to choose the murderer?”

“Yes,” replied Martin. “Although, do you think we could do so after having had a chance to examine some clues? I mean, I know we’re splitting the prize, but it’s the principle of the thing. I think my skills at deduction and attention to detail make me a front-runner for winning on my own merits.”

Herc’s laughter came out of the intercom at the same time that Douglas snorted. 

“Well, you can certainly delay your choice if you’d like,” said Douglas. “I personally have all the clues I need and shall place my guilty vote on Ella.”

“My vote goes to Philip,” said Herc.

“And my bet is on Jack,” added Carolyn.

“Wait! I didn’t get to pick yet! But. Oh. I guess the only one left is Sophie.” Martin tried to console himself with the fact that he still had a 25% chance of being correct. He ignored the little voice in his head that told him he’d never won anything with chances lower than 100%.

“Sorry, Martin,” said Douglas without a hint of regret or sympathy. “You know what they say. The early bird gets the worm.”

“Although there is a case to be made for the second mouse getting the cheese as well,” said Herc.

“And what about me, mum?” Arthur’s voice floated through the intercom. “You all picked everyone available.”

“Choose whoever you’d like, Arthur. You could even play the game in earnest if you want,” answered Carolyn. “Now go and get the food ready for the passengers!”

“Righty-o!” They heard a loud crash as Arthur bumped into a food cart.

“And for the second part of our plan,” said Carolyn. “We’ll need to choose a red herring amongst us. I was thinking of Martin.”

“What a coincidence,” said Douglas. “So was I! Look at him. Shifty. Awkward. And what sort of pilot is afraid of heights, anyway? He must surely be the murderer who’s stolen another man’s identity to come onto the plane!”

“Not to mention, every time you ask him a difficult question, he turns as red as a tomato,” added Carolyn.

Martin opened his mouth to reply, spluttered wordlessly, then gave up.

“If it makes you feel any better, Martin, I shall offer up myself as a secondary red herring,” said Herc. “I’ve already paved the way for it by spending a suspicious amount of time in the galley where I could have done anything to sabotage the food.”

“Good work, everyone,” said Carolyn. “Time to put the plan into action!”

***

The “murder” happened while Martin was surreptitiously searching the passengers and cabin for the lemon. With a dramatic swoon and a shout of “Murder!” Georgie’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed on her seat. Foam came out of her mouth, which Martin thought was a rather impressive touch.

Everyone leapt out of their seats and surrounded Georgie, eager to be the first to unearth a clue. 

“This has all the hallmarks of a poisoning!” said Ella.

“Really? I couldn’t have possibly guessed.” Philip yawned. 

A flash of yellow caught Martin’s eye. While everyone else was pre-occupied with questioning each other and searching Georgie’s outfit and seat, Martin crawled onto the floor and reached towards the lemon.

“All her food looks untouched. If she’s been poisoned, what did she eat?” asked Jack in his loud, boisterous voice. 

“Oh, it definitely can’t be the food I made,” said Arthur. “Only one person has ever died on a flight with us, and it had nothing to do with food.” He paused. “And before I forget: Life stinks and then you die!”

Martin stood back up, lemon in hand just in time to see all the suspicious looks and glares directed at Arthur. “All right, Arthur. Maybe that’s enough talking about death when we’ve got someone murdered just now.”

Attention turned to Martin and a collective gasp went out in the crowd. 

“He’s holding the murder weapon!” Sophie pointed at the lemon in his hand.

“What?” Martin blinked. “No no no, this is just my personal lemon.”

“Oh yeah? Then why’s it got a bite taken out of it?” asked Jack.

Martin looked closer at the lemon. Not only did it have a bite mark on it, there were also very suspicious and obvious flakes on it. “I… That wasn’t there before, I swear!”

Quickly, the Masters of Murder club members divested Martin of the lemon and fought to examine it. From the opposite side aisle, Carolyn and Herc argued over the crossword puzzle, the mystery temporarily forgotten.

“Well done, Martin,” whispered Douglas, sidling up to him. “I knew your natural bad luck would make you the perfect red herring.”

“Now wait just a minute. This is too easy.” Ella gave Martin a once-over before turning her attention to Herc. “You there. I noticed you going into the galley, but you’re not the steward or a member of the flight crew. Thought you could sneak that by me, did you?”

Herc stopped arguing with Carolyn and raised an eyebrow at Ella. “Well, Ms. Busybody, if you must know, I’m very good friends with the owner of this airline here, and we were simply enjoying some private time together.”

“You’ve been pretty fast with the accusations there, Ella. Trying desperately to pin this on somebody before we suspect you?” asked Philip.

Chaos descended as accusations and questions flew in the air. Martin scratched his head. Somehow, he had imagined something more orderly. Where was the ferreting out of motives and connections? Where was the methodical elimination of suspects through their alibis? Did everyone choose to ignore the backstories because they were all so uniformly awful? And most importantly: if the lemon he found was a prop lemon used for the murder mystery, where did Douglas hide the real traveling lemon?

Martin bumped into Jack’s solid body as he tried to look once more for the lemon. 

“Watch your step there. Martin, is it?” Jack had an easy smile on his face, but the grip of his fingers was tighter than Martin was comfortable with.

“That’s right.”

“What have you been looking for this whole time?” 

“A… a clue?” Curse it all. He should have tried harder to look like he was participating. What if he ruined the entire scheme because he got distracted by a lemon?

“You think there’s more clues to be found?” asked Jack.

“Well, I mean, we’ve found the poisoned lemon, certainly. But where’s the poison? It’s probably in a tiny bottle somewhere, right?” 

Jack’s grip on him loosened. “Hmm. You know, your digging and searching got us the murder weapon. You might just be onto something.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief. Deciding to give up the search for the lemon, he joined the fray. “You know, Douglas, there were five minutes near the start of the flight when you left the flight deck without me. What were you doing?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see if our _Captain_ could actually fly a plane. Or if he was too paralyzed by his fear of heights,” replied Douglas without flinching. “An odd trait for a pilot. Suspicious, even.”

“I think the butler did it!” shouted Arthur, adding to the chaos.

This sparked another wave of murmurs, note-taking, and accusations. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin spotted Philip taking a sip from a bottle of wine that was definitely smuggled on-board. Still in her seat playing dead, Georgie sniffed, and opened one eye to glance at Philip. Then she stood up and clapped.

“I hope everyone has gone over all the clues and asked everyone else the questions they needed to determine the murderer.” Georgie took the bottle out of Philip’s hand. “Now, time to cast your votes! And then the celebration for our new bookstore can begin with this fantastic vintage wine Philip was kind enough to bring for us.”

Philip pouted at Georgie, who blithely ignored him and handed out voting sheets for the murderer.

“This year’s mystery and prize are both quite unique, so I hope you’ve all paid close attention to the characters’ backstories and connections. Otherwise, I fear you may accuse the wrong man or woman!”

Martin was the last to hand in his voting sheet, dithering over whether to name his actual best guess or to name Sophie as they had discussed. No. He wouldn’t count on his luck for this. He had to go for the guaranteed win. He wrote down Sophie’s name and handed his sheet in.

Georgie faked a drum-roll and began to read the votes. “The top vote-getter this round is Herc! Who unfortunately is innocent. Sorry Jack, Ella, and Sophie!”

Herc grinned and nudged Martin. “Well well well, look who won the red herring contest.”

“No one told me this was a contest!” protested Martin. “And besides, if no one voted for me, that just means I was too good at being a red herring. Which means that _I_ win.”

“Our second vote-getter is the lovely Ella. How can anyone suspect such a beautiful face? Alas for Philip and Douglas, she is also innocent.” 

Herc shot Douglas a triumphant look.

“Oh ho, and here’s where it gets interesting. The remaining votes are all for different people!” said Georgie. “And so, without further ado, I’d like to announce this year’s winner of the Master of Murder Mystery Contest: Arthur!”

“I think we all underestimated our cheerful yet melancholy steward here tonight,” continued Georgie. “But he was the only one to correctly guess that Victoria, a.k.a. yours truly, was both victim and murderer!”

“What?” exclaimed Martin. “That’s crazy! Why would she do that?”

“Arthur, how did you guess?" asked Ella.

Arthur grinned. “Oh, it was easy! Victoria was the only logical choice left when you took out everyone else.”

“Precisely. This is why you all should have read your backstories, like dear Arthur did,” said Georgie. “Victoria was a woman unlucky in love, encountering only scoundrels and those who are after her money. The last straw came when Douglas, the beautiful siren, scammed her of all her wealth. So to retaliate, she invited all the ex-lovers who had jilted her, staged her own murder, and framed them as the murderers. That’s why everyone had evidence against them!”

“Huh. That’s certainly something,” remarked Douglas. “Well done on casting me as the siren that drove the woman mad. I approve.”

“Everyone did a fantastic job today! I really didn’t think anyone would guess the actual murderer. Now, let’s drink!”

Carolyn loudly cleared her throat. “And what about Arthur’s prize?”

“Ooh, in my excitement, I almost forgot!” Georgie rummaged in her backpack and pulled out an over-sized gift card. “Here it is! A ten thousand quid gift card, redeemable at our brand new bookstore, opening tomorrow! Available to you will be all the books that the members of this club have written over the years.”

***

“Call it Stockholm Syndrome, Martin, but I’m beginning to really get into these mystery books.” Douglas flipped the page. “Detective Kitty Paws has to be my favourite, on account of being a cat who can’t speak and thus has no overwrought dialogue to irritate me with.”

“I have to admit a certain fondness for this _Death in the Skies_ book, even though I already know the plot twist. Georgie did a great job researching aeroplanes,” said Martin. “I could read a thousand more pages on the interior design of the Gulfstream G650ER.”

“You two had better not be reading those awful books again!” yelled Carolyn.

Martin wanted to defend himself, but Douglas held him back. “Not worth the argument, Martin. She’s still sore about her scheme being ruined.”

With a sigh, Martin sat back and put down the book. “Well, there’s still another six hours on this flight. What shall we do?”

“Care to try your luck at Simon Says again, Martin?”

“You’re on, Douglas!”

“Good. Why don’t you start?”

“All right—”

“Ah, and you’ve already lost. I didn’t say ‘Simon Says: Why don’t you start?’”


End file.
